


Jump Then Fall (into me)

by purpledaisy



Category: One Direction (Band), Zayn Malik (Musician)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Christmas Romance, M/M, Romance, meet cute, mentions of Liam Payne/Louis Tomlinson relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-16
Updated: 2016-10-16
Packaged: 2018-08-15 03:24:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8040640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purpledaisy/pseuds/purpledaisy
Summary: AU: Harry Styles loses his phone and his sister's Christmas gift -- it turns out Zayn Malik has both.





	Jump Then Fall (into me)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [leighbot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/leighbot/gifts).



> You had the cutest prompts, I definitely wanted to push two of them into one story but, alas, this was assigned as a pinch hit so timing was of the essence. I'm sure you'll figure out what prompt I chose pretty early on and I hope I did your Starbucks scene justice :) 
> 
> A/N: Religious affiliations and beliefs projected onto these characters in no way reflect true projections of their religious affiliations or beliefs in real life. Also, this is so fluffy your teeth may rot. Additional warning for shameless references to the movie Serendipity.
> 
> Title: Taylor Swift - Jump Then Fall

Zayn Malik shivers as he gets into his car, the leather steering wheel cold under his hands and his breath coming out in gentle but visible puffs. He rubs his hands together after he twists the key in the ignition and turns all of the heat knobs on as far as they will go.  His best friend, Louis Tomlinson, tells him this is not the proper way to treat his car but timing is of the essence and right now he’s cold so he doesn’t care.

The roads are still snowy with leftovers from the latest December storm and his car protests as he steers away from the curb. “Come on,” he says quietly, listening to the tires squeal on the slick ice buildup beneath him. “Don’t be a jerk,” he says on a particularly rough tug of the wheel. The engine revs in response and he apologizes quickly. His Honda must accept the gesture because a moment later it crests the snow residue under his tires and he’s on the open road headed for the shopping mall on the edge of the city.

It’s not that Zayn is a forgetful person– he has a very neat planner where he has concisely handwritten his appointments and obligations in multiple colors. It’s more that he has a terrible habit of procrastinating. He puts everything off until the next day, and then one more day after that. Days usually turn into weeks and suddenly it’s Christmas Eve and he doesn’t have gifts for his sisters. Thus, he’s heading to the mall mere hours before Christmas Eve dinner with his family-–a dual religious split between the Muslim side of his family and the Christian side.

The roads are mostly bare of other cars but the houses dotted along the edges are glowing from the inside as parties get under way. The leafless trees decorating the sidewalks are festively lit as well, dressed up in glowing white and rainbow lights that extend into nearby yards with giant blown up Santa and snowman figurines.

Zayn has a small Christmas tree of his own this year but it’s up on his kitchen counter so his dog, Max, can’t knock it down. Even then, he decorated it with only plastic bulbs in case Max learns to get out of his crate and up on the countertops anytime soon. He got in the shower with Zayn a couple of mornings ago, so he doesn’t put anything past him. Max has been with Zayn since just before his first year of college and now he’s six months past graduation. He likes to be the annoying dog parent who tells everyone Max got his four year degree the same time Zayn did.

The closer Zayn gets to downtown, the more crowded the streets get – people bundled in jackets, scarves, and coats scurry across the street in front of him, laughing and shouting at each other. With the roads covered in snow, no one seems to think there are any rules--Zayn narrowly avoids being swept away by a Hummer driving down the center of the main road.

Zayn isn’t a stranger to doing his shopping at the last minute, unfortunately. Each year since he’s started buying his own gifts, he has had to come out on Christmas Eve and haphazardly through the mall looking for the perfect gifts. Each year he promises himself he’ll think ahead next time. Eventually, he’ll get it right.

In the parking lot Zayn has to squeeze his car into a compact spot, biting his bottom lip in concentration as to not knock anyone else’s car. A first year teaching salary doesn’t give him a lot of room to be paying high insurance rates. The thought makes him roll his eyes – he used to be so cool and fun and irresponsible and now he tries to keep his insurance premiums down. What a bore.

In the mall, he heads straight for the mid-level department store on the first floor because he knows he can get all three of his sisters something in the same spot. That handy trick is one he only learned last year; before that, he would give himself a migraine running through different specialty shops.

There’s Christmas music floating through the speakers overhead but it’s dulled by the other last minute shoppers shuffling from store to store. There are no happy groups joyfully shopping at the eleventh hour but instead the group is made up of individuals with their heads down as they scurry around. Probably promising themselves to be in and out and on their way to the family dinner planned for eight ’o’clock.  Zayn checks his watch – he has one of those dinners too and the countdown is already on to make it in time.

He heads straight for the M.A.C counter first and three sales associates hurrying towards him, all smiling with dollar signs in their eyes. This is where they can usually convince people to spend too much money—last minute and in a hurry. Zayn would know, each year he ends up panicking and buying exactly what they tell him. This year, he has a list so he can stay strong. Hopefully. That first year teaching salary can’t afford extravagant gifts or insurance premiums.

He asks the first guy to get to him to pick out some things and then quickly says his budget when the guy’s eyes light up. It takes only a moment for the guy to pick out product and ring it all up and the ease of the first transaction makes Zayn feel a bit lighter as he goes toward the shoe department.

His youngest sister wants a pair of Adidas shoes and Zayn said he would go in halves on them with his middle sister. Why she left it up to him to actually go and buy them is a mystery to him. He shows a guy with a name tag that says Joseph the picture his sister sent him of the shoes from Teen Vogue. His only stumble is over the sizing when Joseph tells him they’re women’s shoes in men’s sizing.

“Who does that?” He mumbles to himself once he does the conversion and has the correct size brought to him from the backroom. He puts his bag of M.A.C shit inside the bigger bag for the shoes and turns to face the rest of the store. The only person left is the very hardest – his middle sister.

She’s not picky per se but she had given each member of the family an exact thing to buy her. “I don’t get the problem,” she said when they all look appalled at her demand; “You’re going to spend the money anyway so it’s best not to waste it.” Zayn has to give her credit – he’s never thought of that. He usually just accepts the things he doesn’t want with a small smile.

The item assigned to him is a set of gloves with a matching hat and scarf. Matching was underlined three times so Zayn’s assuming that a multi-colored pallet is not what Waliyha is hoping for.

 “Who are you shopping for?” The smooth voice on his right makes him jump, embarrassingly. It’s yet another sales associate, descending on him like a wolf with blood red nails and she talks before he can open his mouth to respond. “A special woman?”

Zayn gives his most charming smile, “Kind of. My younger sister.” He can see the way her eyes go warm at his words as if he’s the most endearing person on the planet.

“That’s so sweet,” she says, leaning in closer to him as he leans back slightly.

“I’m told there’s a matching set of like, gloves, a hat, and a scarf somewhere here?” He shakes the bag already in his hand. “I have two sisters covered and one to go.”

She purses her lips and taps on her chin with her finger – deep advisory thoughts, Zayn is sure. “She might be talking about the set that was in Vogue last month.”

Zayn sighs, “That sounds about right.” Vogue doesn’t sound good for his wallet.

 “A perfect gift,” she says, nodding with palpable enthusiasm like Zayn might be getting her a set as well. “Especially with all this snow we’re having. Just make sure you get the same color in all three.” She looks deadly serious about the color matching, a verbal underline compared to Waliyha’s emphasis on his own list.

“Right. And where can I find this magical set?” He smiles sweetly again as she points him toward the far corner of the store.

He weaves in and out across the other shoppers before arriving in front of a daunting display of winter accessories in every color possible but nearly none of the colors repeated.

“Oh fuck me,” he says glancing around. He can spot five pairs of pink gloves and multiple pink scarves but there are no pink hats on any of the racks. He does the same glance through for purple and then green, his eyes going crossed with the spots of color.

“Can I help you?” Another enthusiastic sales associate shows up at his shoulder standing incredibly close to him.

“I’m doing okay,” he says, chewing his lip as he surveys the racks further. It seems impossible that there have been this many odds and ends left over without any cohesive color matching to be done.

“Are you sure?” She leans in further and Zayn takes a small step to the side. “Anything you need, I’d be happy to help.”

He glances over in time to see her eyes graze up and down his body and he raises his eyebrows in surprise at the blatant stare there. He’s too tongue tied to think of anything witty or coherent in the moment. He likes the way his face works for him and the things that can happen when he smiles with his tongue pressed back behind his teeth but he usually can’t convert it to anything in the end, he tends to be more shy and awkward than his charming smile would allow.

He shifts his eyes back to the display in front of him. “I’m alright thank you,” he says politely.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees someone else come up to the display just next to him. A guy around his age with brown hair pulled into a loose bun. He studies the rack as intently as Zayn, his pointer finger and thumb pulling on his bottom lip. He wears a dark blue jacket and tight black jeans but his golden boots on top of it all is what catches Zayn’s eye in a double take. It’s almost distracting until Zayn remembers he doesn’t have time for distractions. It’s crunch time.

“Has anyone told you that you have gorgeous cheek bones?”

Zayn blinks a couple of times before glancing toward the saleswoman next to him. He’s not sure if it’s a compliment exactly but he half-smiles anyway. “Um, thank you. I think.”

He catches the other guy’s eye for a blink of a moment and Zayn can see he’s trying not to laugh. The saleswoman fades from Zayn’s mind as his eyes draw a line between a pair of black gloves on the left of the display, two scarves in the center, and a hat on the far right. His eyes light up as he steps closer to the display—it’s like he’s found a needle in a woolen haystack. He takes the hat first and then picks between the two black scarves because one seems to have loose stitching in one of the sides. Then he reaches for the gloves only to be met with another hand.

“Sorry,” he says, automatically but he doesn’t pull his hand back.

“Oops,” the other hand says. Or, its owner does.

Zayn looks up to the guy who had been studying the display alongside him a moment before. Head on, Zayn gets distracted by his pretty green eyes and soft face, strong jaw line and the way his hair wisps out of his bun. There’s no time for interferences right now, though. The only problem is pretty eyes doesn’t let go of the gloves either.

“Looks like we both need the same pair,” Zayn says pointlessly and obviously.

The guy smirks, “I think so.”

Zayn glances toward where the sales woman had been but of course now she’s long gone. “I wonder if they have any more in the back?” Zayn stares at where their hands touch but he refuses to let go. The other guy has long and pretty fingers, rings with turquoise stones on two of them which only make them prettier, really. Zayn may be developing a small bias.

The guy clears his throat, “I actually asked a bit earlier about additional stock and the lady told me this is all they have. Then she said, ‘May the odds be ever in your favor’ like the Hunger Games and I thought she was being dramatic.” He shrugs and half smiles at Zayn, “Now, I’m thinking that maybe she wasn’t.”

Zayn smiles, “Hunger Games on Christmas Eve? Not what I was expecting when I woke up this morning.”

He huffs out a laugh, “I know how ridiculous this is but I can’t get myself to let go of these.”

Zayn’s mouth twitches, “I can’t either.”

“What if we split them?”

“They’re gloves, we can’t split gloves,” Zayn says. “The point is to have a pair.”

The guy laughs again and Zayn is really having trouble focusing on the point of everything when he looks like that. “I’m running on like, three hours of sleep but that was pretty bad, wasn’t it?”

Zayn is so endeared he nearly drops it all together but he remembers that he has a dinner to get to and no other gifts under a dwindling timeline so he needs these stupid gloves. “It was a little bad,” Zayn says. “I’m trying to get these for my little sister and I want to get her the matching scarf, hat, and gloves.” Zayn holds up the other two items in his left hand and smiles.

The other guy bites his bottom lip briefly as if he’s thinking. “I’m getting mine for my sister too. She only has two months left so I thought it would be nice for her to have.”

Zayn pulls his hands back automatically. Someone dying isn’t anything compared to his own little sister. She doesn’t need black gloves when she has her whole life in front of her – maybe telling her that will be his gift this year.

“I’m so sorry. Please, take them,” Zayn says. He feels like he’s in a movie learning the true meaning of Christmas at twenty-three and then the other guy starts laughing. It’s this little sound that comes out and then he’s full on grinning, his eyes shining. Zayn stares at him.

“I’m going to hell,” he says, still laughing. “Like, do not pass go, do not collect two-hundred dollars, go straight down.”

“Did you just quote Monopoly at me?” Zayn tilts his head, “And is your sister not sick?”

He shakes his head, his smile dimming. “I just said she has two months left but I didn’t mean in life, only in the city. She’s moving to a few hours away for a new job.”

Zayn’s mouth drops open and then he closes it—his mind blank of anything he could possibly say in the moment.

“You should take these,” the guy says handing the gloves back to Zayn. His smile is small but Zayn can see the amusement in his eyes.

“I’d insist you take them, again,” Zayn says slowly, “But now I don’t think you deserve them.”

The guy shakes his head and puts his hands behind his back, “No, no, I would imagine not. Gemma likes green more anyway.” He shrugs, “I just thought the black would be a nice change.”

Zayn turns the black gloves over in his hand, smiling down at them like a lunatic. He remembers the hurry he’s supposed to be in and lifts them toward the stranger. “Well, my sister thanks you.”

Pretty green eyes and golden boots smiles as he slips a green pair of gloves from the rack in order to get to a green pair underneath. “Not a problem.”

“Have a Merry Christmas,” Zayn says, “I hope your sister likes her gift.”

“You as well,” he says. He reaches for one of the scarves in the middle of the table and looks away from Zayn. If Zayn had more time he would linger around the table and try to get the guy’s number or at least his name but, as it is, the countdown to dinner is on and he’s wasted enough time already.

The woman at the cash wrap desk is the one who told Zayn to get the scarf, gloves, and hats originally so she seems pleased to see him – probably calculating her fair cut of the commission on his purchase.

He taps his credit card against the glass edge of the counter as she rings his items up and then wraps each one in tissue paper with a sticker to hold the sides together before stacking them in a silver bag. It’s a nice gesture but she moves at about a snail’s pace and Zayn nearly reaches across the counter and wraps them up himself. He’s still going to need to put them in the shiny red holiday bags he threw in the back of his car before he left home earlier. Hopefully no one notices when he walks in with identically wrapped gifts. There was a sale on red and he took advantage.

Across the counter, the other guy from the glove display walks up and another lady comes sweeping in front of the cash register to ring him up. He catches Zayn’s eye and smirks, lifting his credit card up in half a wave. Zayn nods in return, fighting a smirk of his own. The lady wrapping his things glances over her shoulder to see what he’s looking at, which Zayn thinks is slightly invasive.

“Oh my gosh, Darla,” she says suddenly, “I’m ringing up the same things you are.”

Darla, evidently, is the other sales woman and she turns around fully with her mouth dropped open, “No way.” She looks back between Zayn and the other guy, “Do you guys know each other or something?” As if buying the same things from the limited selection of a department store indicates familiarity.

Before Zayn can say something that will probably come out too snarky for the season, the other guy speaks first. “We’re both buying gifts for our sisters,” he says, smiling slightly, “They have the same taste.” His voice is smooth like warm caramel and just as slow, drawing out slowly but sure all the same.

Both sales girls look between them and alternate saying how they’re sweet and such good brothers. Zayn manages a smile, manages not to say that he’s in a bit of a hurry especially as his purchases aren’t even fully wrapped yet.

“Darla,” his cashier says, “See how I’m wrapping these?” She picks up Zayn’s packages and turns around to show Darla how intricately she has wrapped the tissue paper.

Zayn taps his credit card even quicker against the edge of the desk. His mom will hang him by his nostrils if he’s late to family dinner. He reminds himself that he’s can’t exactly blame the cashiers when he’s the one who put off shopping until the last possible minute but, still. He catches Mr. Green Eyes and Golden Boots’ gaze again. They both raise their eyebrows at the same time and then half smile as they look away from each other.

If Zayn was a braver man, he’d use the delay in checking out to curve to the other side of the counter and flirt a little, see if maybe this guy will give him his number--even if they are in a department store on Christmas Eve. Alas, face to face flirting has never been his specialty so he doesn’t look up again.

Darla is a fast learner, clearly, because the woman ringing up Zayn gets back to her cash register a moment later and has him swipe his card to pay. He goes too fast, according to the machine, and he has to do it twice more before his card is finally approved. The green check mark sends a small flood of relief in his chest as he takes the bag, with pristinely wrapped items, and starts toward the door with a, “Happy Christmas!” thrown over his shoulder.

“Sir, wait one moment, please.”

He has barely passed the other guy buying the pretty guy when he turns around to see if he’s the sir the voice is after. Sure enough, his sales associate is smiling at him as she waves a sales slip in the air.

“Just need your autograph here first.”

He does his best not to grimace at the tired line as he comes back to the counter. He sets his bag up next to the other guy’s bag as the slim piece of paper slides toward him followed by a pen.

“Are you famous and I don’t know it?” The guy from before murmurs to him as he puts his own card back in his wallet and Zayn snorts before smirking at him.

His signature comes out like a scribble but its good enough, according to him, so he slides the pen and paper back across the desk and grabs a bag from the counter again. “Okay, I’m off,” he says, backing away from the two sales associates and the other guy. He pats his pant pockets to make sure he has his phone and then glances down to account for three bags before lifting his hand to wave. “Happy Christmas, again,” he says before turning and speed walking to the door.

He’s positive he looks like he’s stealing something but he has sales receipts – all of them signed with his name—as proof. As he pushes open the double doors to the parking lot, he tries his hardest not to feel let down for leaving the prettiest man he’s seen in at least a year without so much as knowing his name.

Getting out of the parking garage is a struggle and Zayn wishes, more than twice, he owned a monster truck instead of a cheap Honda so he could roll over the cars in his way—never mind on the true holiday spirit and all that. Once he gets on the street headed for his parents’ house, traffic clears out again and the serene Christmas Eve scene of the city settles over him once more.

As he expects, there is a twisting line of parked cars outside of his childhood home and though there is no specific marking, he’s sure more than half of them belong to people related to him in some way. Christmas with the Maliks doubles as a holiday for the Christian side and an excuse to get together for the Muslim side which means the house will be crawling from the moment he walks in. Religious affiliation swept aside, it’s a family affair and he’s thankful there’s never any tension for the differing ideologies. Threads of a family weaved together in multiple colored strands and all that.

Before he goes inside he hurriedly wraps the gifts for his sisters by dumping each shopping bag into the shinier red bags. He hooks all the bags over his arm and the gift for his parents – a bottle of wine and reservations for a night at a winery – before trooping over the hardened snow to his parents' front door.

He’s greeted by swarms of cousins, aunts, and uncles as soon as he walks in, everyone yelling at once and talking over each other. There are enough cheek kisses to last him more than a lifetime and almost as many people pinching his arms to say he looks like he’s been working out as they do to his stomach to tell him he looks too thin.

He drops his gifts off by the tree where his youngest sister is organizing all of the boxes and bags already under it while shaking and squeezing the packages to try and see what is inside. Zayn knows the method well, though he grew out of it around middle school. That was also when he started to get boxers and socks as Christmas gifts – the things he technically needed the most but weren’t exciting enough to peek on.

“Don’t peek,” he tells her right as she dives for the bags he has just set down. “Or do that,” he adds right when she bear hugs the package. Shoes aren’t exactly tough to identify by touch.

“I’m not,” she says even while she runs her hands up and down the edges of the bag, wrinkling the shiny red paper. He stares at her for a beat before deciding there are bigger battles to fight beside ruined surprises.

His mom intercepts him near the kitchen a moment later, rubbing at his cheeks where there is smeared lipstick from the other women in the room. “Okay, okay,” he says, when he’s sure she’s got most of it off. He steps away and pats at his raw cheek while his mom gives him a small smile.

“Did you come alone?” She asks, looking over his shoulder hopefully. It would be the equivalent of a Christmas miracle for no one to note his lack of a companion at each and every family gathering.

“Yes, I did.” He smiles and puts his hands out to his sides, “Can you possibly still love me?”

There’s a wave of panic over his mom’s face but then she must see the hint of mischief in Zayn’s eyes when he smirks because she smiles fully. “You know I do.”

“That’s what I thought,” he says, wrapping one arm around her shoulders and tugging her toward him. He can’t figure out when he got bigger than his own mom but at least she fits under his arm now. “Even if I never give you any grandbabies and stay a bachelor for the rest of my life?” She slaps his chest and pushes him away laughing. “Wait,” he puts both hands up, “I do have Max so I technically gave you fur grand babies.” Her laugh ends in an unimpressed stare which only makes him laugh as he goes across the room to say hello to his dad next.

Zayn hasn’t had a steady relationship in years – focused too much on college and on again off again hook ups instead – but he doesn’t plan to be alone forever. He wonders if anyone ever plans to be alone forever or if it happens to sneak up on them slowly. He pushes the thought away – that’s something for his mom to worry about for him.

There is a flurry of activity as dinner starts, hot dishes being set on the table as the cousins all try to find somewhere to sit. Zayn spots his little cousin Maya toddling toward the table and he scoops her up with one arm, biting her cheek until she’s giggling and swatting at him. Zayn sits at the table with Maya in his lap and his dad next to him with one of his aunts on his other side. Conversation flutters around the table in a hurry, everyone talking to someone three people away from them and louder than whoever else is nearby.

Maya’s pigtails tickle the bottom of Zayn’s chin but he can’t resist squeezing her around the middle and making her laugh while they eat. They share the same plate of food so he has to cut everything into tiny bites because Maya eats with her fingers and has no sense of what’s too big and what’s not. Zayn doesn’t mind it so much – he’s always had patience when it comes to kids, which is one of the many reasons why he threw himself into teaching.

Everything swirls around them as Zayn and his dad talk about work and how Zayn wants to start fixing up his dad’s motorcycle in the garage and how Yaser is thinking about taking out the play structure in their back yard now that the girls are too old to use it.

“Maya would probably use it,” Zayn says, bouncing his cousin on his knees as she chews on his finger.

“Is she moving in?” His dad smiles and twirls one of Maya’s pigtails, “You know we always need more women in the house.” They share a knowing smile – more than used to being outshined by the opinionated and loud women in their family.

Once dinner finishes there’s too much dessert to eat which leaves Maya asleep on Zayn’s shoulder and his own eyes drifting shut every couple of minutes. He’s thankful for winter break away from his class at school if only to be able to catch up on rest – even if doing so at the family dinner table is frowned upon.

The family drifts from the house slowly over the next hour after they eat, the families with the youngest kids disappearing first. As is tradition, Zayn and his older sister, Doniya, stay the night at their parent’s house which means Zayn just has to wait for the main room to clear out before he climbs on the couch with one of the huge blankets his mom keeps stored under the coffee table.

His parent’s had kept his childhood room intact until his last year of college when it was clear he wouldn’t be coming home again. Now, it’s his mom’s workout room and he sleeps on the couch on Christmas Eve. Doniya’s been doing it for years with little complaint so he doesn’t say anything. The couch is plenty of room and he’s too tired to do something dramatic like kick his little sisters out of their beds.

He does manage to live up to his annoying dog parent ways and calls Louis, who lives one floor above his apartment, to make sure he’ll check in on Max. He feels a bit bad considering its Louis’ birthday and his own son’s second Christmas Eve ever but, then again, Max is basically Zayn’s son and Oliver is too young to remember things like Christmas Eve. Louis grumbles and complains about it in a very Louis-like fashion but promises Zayn he’ll check in on the dog – they’ve been friends since they were paired up in the dorms as random roommates and Louis knows how important Max is to Zayn.

With Max squared away for the night, Zayn tries fall asleep but fails as Doniya’s incessant snoring interrupts him from the brink each and every time. Eventually he throws a pillow at her—it makes her curse at him but then it feels exactly like being a kid again. She does use the pillow to prop her head up, at least, which cuts down on the noise significantly.

As Zayn finally starts to drift to sleep, his eyes glaze over the multi colored lights of the family Christmas tree and between the faded glare his mind pushes forward glimpses of pretty green eyes and shiny gold boots – the stranger he’ll never see again, except, evidently, somewhere in his mind’s eye.

…

Christmas morning is calmer in the Malik house now that Zayn’s youngest sister is nearly a teenager. When they were all under the age of fifteen, holidays were at the height of mania with everyone tearing into packages and squealing over each other. Now, it’s quieter as they all drink cups of coffee with their parents and browse through their gifts slowly.

This year Zayn gets all of the essentials—new razors, boxers, toys for Max, spare chargers for his iPhone and a ton of school supplies for his classroom. He’s pretty sure the enthusiasm coursing through him over the multiple boxes of markers, crayons, and pairs of scissors is a testament to the complete and utter correctness of his career.

He and his sisters open their presents from each other last and he waits with baited breath as each one of them tears into their shiny red bags. Safaa screams bloody murder when she sees her shoes and Doniya gives up on the whole family affair in favor of trying out her new makeup right there on the couch. Waliyha, the most even handed of all of them, unwraps her gifts extra slowly, finally getting to Zayn’s package.

For some reason, it only unnerves him more that she goes so slow with it even though she must know what he’s gotten her. The wrap job by the cashier proves to be impressive as it takes Waliyha an extended period to unhinge the tape on the first item. The scarf slips out and she grins, wrapping it around her neck.

“I saw this in Vogue,” she says, fluttering both ends.

“Did you?” Zayn mocks surprise and she rolls her eyes at him only to be chastised by their parents.

“And thank god you got black,” she says, “Any other color would clash with my winter coats.”

Zayn smiles like the choice was obvious though it just happened to be luck that got him this far. She lays the hat out next to her once she gets it unwrapped, her fingers running over the fabric again and again as she raves over how soft it is. Considering Zayn was in such a predicament about picking the colors, he didn’t even consider the feel of the fabrics. It all goes to shit, though, when she undoes the tissue paper around the gloves only to find an electric green pair that shines out even gaudier against the black scarf she has on when she holds the pair up. Zayn’s smile drops.

“Wow,” she says, a fake smile creeping onto her face. “Those sure are bright.”

Doniya puts down her makeup to glance over and barks a laugh, “Nice one, Zayn.”

He clears his throat, “Are you sure there’s nothing else in there?” She sets the gloves on top of her hat and reaches for the bag quickly like she’s expecting there to be a lottery check in the bottom of it. “I mean, like, the black pair of gloves,” he clarifies before she gets her hopes too far up.

“Oh my god,” she screeches as she reaches in the bag, “Wait. What?”

“What?” Zayn’s voice is louder than he expects it to be but her face makes it look like he’s forgotten a stash of condoms in his little sister’s gift which was definitely not his intention. As it is, he appears to have switched gifts with the pretty guy at the store so the realm of possibility for what is inside the bag next is seemingly endless.

“I already have one of these,” she says, her nose scrunching as she lifts her hand out of the bag. Grasped between her fingers is an iPhone 6 Plus, dwarfing her hand and encased in a light pink plastic shell. “I thought you got me the new iPhone to make up for the nasty green gloves.”

Zayn snorts. “Yeah, let me get you the newest iPhone and Safaa tennis shoes.” He leans over to take the phone from her but Waliyha pulls it back. “Give me that,” he says, holding his hand out.

“Why?”

“What do you mean why?” He leans forward and grabs it while she’s thinking of a response and sticks his tongue out at her. “Obviously I didn’t buy you an iPhone so it’s not yours.”

“Whose is it, then?” She puts on a disapproving face and looks startlingly like their mom, “Zayn, did you steal an iPhone?"

He nods, “Yep. Then, I wanted to be caught so I wrapped it in your gift and gave it to you in front of our parents.” He rolls his eyes and presses the center button of the phone but nothing happens – evidently leaving it wrapped up overnight depleted the charge significantly.

“So, you really did buy me these gloves then?” She holds up the green gloves by one finger. “I didn’t mean they were nasty just like, different.” She pastes on a smile and he grabs the gloves from her too.

“No I didn’t mean to,” he says. “I meant for a black matching set.”

“Honey,” his mom says from the couch with a soft smile, “Do you think that you’ve possibly gone color blind?”

Everyone laughs then, even his dad, the traitor, and Zayn rolls his eyes. “Ha ha, every one’s a comedian. Let’s just ignore my two home run gifts for Saf and Doniya,” he says motioning around. “And this will be another home run,” he shakes the green gloves around, “Just give me a couple days to return these for the black pair.”

“And figure out the iPhone situation,” Doniya says. “Someone’s probably pissed about your sticky fingers.”

“I didn’t steal it,” he says again, eyes drifting back to the phone in his hand. He flips it over and then over once more. Maybe he didn’t get the cute guy’s name or number or exchange more than ten words total but he did get his entire phone so that must mean something.

…

“I’m sorry, can we back up. You thought this guy was hot and so you stole his phone?”

Zayn has to pause where he’s plugging in the stranger’s phone in his kitchen to stare blankly at Louis. How someone could be so far off the mark continues to astound him.

“Uncle Zayn is p-i-s-s-e-d,” Louis says with a smirk, bouncing Oliver on his hip as he spells the word. Oliver laughs and claps his hands because he’s going to grow up to be a troublemaker just like his dad; Zayn is very, very sure about that.

“I just spent like twenty minutes telling you this story,” Zayn says. He checks the stranger’s phone is connected before plugging in his own next to it. Who knew it would be a blessing in disguise his parents gave him so many phone chargers as gifts.

“Yeah but I was trying to get Oliver ready for bed and stuff,” Louis says, “I’m sorry that my full attention was on my other child rather than you.” Zayn crosses his arms and stares. Oliver and Louis both laugh again.

Max wanders in from the back bedroom right then but he doesn’t even give Zayn his warm gooey love eyes, he just gets on the couch without a backward glance. Zayn had gotten home later in the afternoon than he thought he would from the semi-Christmas celebration with his family. After gifts there was breakfast and holiday movies and then trying to help his mom clean up everything and then a lunch with his cousins and more gifts. All said, he’d been away from Max for nearly twenty-four hours by the time he got home and Max seems none too pleased – he’ll hardly even look at Zayn. It didn’t help that once Zayn got home he went straight to Louis’ apartment to explain the phone debacle before they and Oliver trooped back to Zayn’s so he could actually charge the mystery man’s phone.

“Do you want me to start over from the beginning?” Zayn asks as he follows Louis over to the couch. Louis plops down next to Max and Oliver goes right to work kneading the dog’s ears with his chubby fingers. Max and Oliver have been pals since the beginning so Max has no objections to the little guy’s fingers all over him.

“Absolutely not,” Louis says. He grins so hard at Zayn’s annoyed face that his eyes turn to crescent moons. Zayn frowns and sits along the other side of the L-shaped couch. “You were buying presents, a cute boy came up, you fought over gloves then you ended up trading gloves at the checkout on accident and his phone ended up in the bag too.”

“We didn’t fight,” Zayn pipes in. “Just like had an exchange and then I ended up with the gloves.”

“Had an exchange,” Louis drawls, “That sounds like a very dignified description of a one night stand.”

“Yeah, well this was far from it.” Zayn runs his hand back through his hair. He wishes there would have been more than gloves exchanged between them – the guy’s legs in his skinny jeans and pink lips are a mental image battle Zayn has been fighting all day. “I didn’t even get his name.”

“But you have his phone,” Louis grins, “See, I’ve been listening.”

Zayn rolls his eyes at him.

“Now, you could take the phone back to the store like a normal human so he can just pick it up at the last place he remembers having it,” Louis says.

“I could.” Zayn’s smile is close lipped because he’s pretty sure where Louis is going next.

“Instead, you’ve decided to hijack this poor guy’s phone, charge it on your own and well, I don’t really know what happens next,” Louis says, “But I’m on the edge of my seat waiting to find out.”

Zayn laughs and presses his hands to his eyes until he sees white lights before dropping them in his lap and blinking out the splotches as he looks at Louis. “I don’t know either. What I do know, though, is that if I take the phone back to the store, I’ll never see this guy again.”

“This is where I, as your charming best friend, tell you that you could have solved this by actually talking to him when you saw him the first time.”

“There’s an idea,” Zayn says with wide eyes as though it’s the first time he’s thought of it. The truth is he already knows he should have talked to the guy more, risked the wrath of his mom at being late for the good of his heart or whatever. Louis flips him off.

Oliver gives up on Max a moment later and climbs slowly across the couch toward Zayn instead. “No, no, Oliver,” Louis says as he watches it happen even with one hand to guide Oliver if he should slip on the edge of the couch. “Don’t do this to me, bro.”

Oliver pays no mind to his dad because his eyes are set on Zayn. Zayn reaches for him once he’s close and pulls him to his lap. Oliver goes for Zayn’s necklaces first, sliding them into his mouth without pause as has become his trademark. Louis falls back against his side of the couch with a sigh as he reaches out to pet Max.

“He’s a jewelry man,” Louis says, shaking his head. “What if that’s not even the cute guy’s phone? Have you thought of that?”

Zayn blinks a couple of times, “No, not really. I just kind of assumed. I saw him with his phone in the store.”

“Did it have a baby pink case?” Louis asks, leaning forward.

The next pause, as Zayn tries to remember, is sliced down the middle by the musical notes of an iPhone ringing. Zayn looks up from Oliver in shock as Louis glances toward the kitchen.

“Is that the pink phone?”

Zayn hurries off the couch and tucks Oliver on his hip has he goes to the kitchen with Louis hot on his heels. “Oh my god, it’s ringing.”

“No shit, Sherlock.” Louis winces, “No s-h-i-t, Sherlock. It’s a phone.”

Zayn doesn’t pause to tell Louis his son is barely two and not speaking or remembering words yet because the phone is the only thing he can focus on. He grabs it from the charger to see a blonde face staring back, bright blue eyes and a white teethed smile.

“It’s Niall Horan,” he says, reading the name of the contact and glancing toward Louis.

“Niall Horan with a peach emoji,” Louis adds, squinting at the screen.

“What do I do?” Zayn asks, holding the phone flat in his palm and staring at it.

“Answer it,” Louis all but yells which makes Zayn jump.

“Fuck,” he says as the phone falls back to the counter at his surprised jolt.

“F-u-c-k,” Louis intones and Zayn glances over his shoulder just to glare at him. He grabs the phone just as the last ring finishes and he slides his finger over the screen, answering in the actual last second possible.

“Put it to your ear,” Louis whispers when Zayn is still staring at the phone once the seconds start counting on the screen and the call is fully connected.

Zayn shoots another glare at his best friend before pressing the phone to his ear with a cautious, “Hello?” His voice cracks and he clears his throat.

Over the line, there’s scattered noises and then someone shouts, “Oh shit, they actually answered!” right into the speaker.

Zayn pulls the phone back a bit before settling it over his ear again. There are more sounds of shuffling and some talking he can’t quite understand. He elbows Louis as he moves in closer as though he’s trying to hear the conversation too. Louis pulls a face but takes a step back.

“Hello?” The warm honey voice coming across the line nearly makes Zayn drop the phone all over again.

“Who is this?” He asks, biting his lip. Louis raises his eyebrows and Zayn mouths, “It’s him.” Even after twenty-four hours, he would recognize that voice in an instant. Louis does a silent celebration throwing his hands up in the air and shaking his fists. Zayn does his very best to ignore him.

“Who is this?” The other voice says back, incredulous. “You’re the one who has my phone.”

Zayn laughs, “That’s true. Um, my name is Zayn.”

There’s a quiet pause, “Zayn. I don’t think I know you, do I?”

“Know is a very, very loose term. And I definitely don't mean the biblical sense.” Zayn puts a hand over his mouth like maybe that will shut him up.

Another pause, “How did you get my phone, Zayn?”

Zayn tries to figure out what to say – he needs to give the phone back but if this man would happen to fall in love with him in the meantime, that would be helpful. “Do you happen to have my black gloves?”

There’s a whoosh of a gasp that makes Zayn laugh. “You have my green gloves don’t you? And my phone?”

“Guilty of both,” Zayn says. “My sister was disappointed by those green gloves, let me tell you.”

“Well, black is too depressing so Gemma asked for a gift card instead,” the other guy says. “Gemma’s my sister. Not my girlfriend. Or something. I feel like I should clarify that.” His voice stutters as Zayn stomachs swoops—he may be developing a crush without even knowing this guy’s name or a single thing about him besides him having a sister.

Oliver starts yelling right then, bouncing in Zayn’s arms as he mimics his dad’s celebratory dance and Zayn holds the phone out to the side as Louis moves in to grab his son. “Sorry,” he says back into the phone, “My best friend and his baby are over.”

“How old? I love babies,” the guy says.

“Oliver will be two next month,” Zayn says, glancing toward where Louis is looking at him suspiciously.

“The terrible twos,” he says knowingly, “That’s rough.”

Zayn bites his lip again, “Do you have kids or something?”

There’s a slight gasp on the other side of the phone. “No, no, I’m in my last year of undergrad but I’m going to nursing school next fall. I’m hoping to be a pediatric nurse.”

“Really?” Zayn smiles, “That’s awesome. I’m actually a school teacher myself.”

“Aw,” he says, “Little ones?”

“First grade,” Zayn says. “So, they’re fairly little.”

Across the line there’s a loud noise and a voice in the distance yelling.

“Is everything okay?” Zayn asks, trying to distinguish one sound from the other.

“I’m going to have to call you back,” the pretty guy with Zayn’s black gloves and a light pink phone case says before the line goes dead completely.

“Wait,” Zayn says, before he realizes the call has ended.

When he hears silence he pulls the phone back and watches the Niall contact fade so the phone goes back to the lock screen pad of numbers. “What’s your name?” His voice is quiet and he knows he’s only asking a phone screen but yet again, he can’t believe he didn’t ask the actual guy for the information when he was live on the line.

“You didn’t get his name?” Louis’ voice cuts through Zayn’s regret. He’s lying on his back on the couch with Oliver sitting up on his stomach.

“I was getting to it,” Zayn says, setting the pink phone back on the counter, “And then there was an emergency or something because he had to go.”

“You were also talking like you were on a first date so congratulations on that,” Louis says and Zayn blushes automatically.

“What are you talking about? I was having a normal conversation, Lou.”

“If a normal conversation sounds like you think the sun shines out of his eyeballs and every word he says should be written down.”

“I did not sound like that,” Zayn says defiantly – though he can’t be sure he didn’t sound exactly like that. If anything it’s a crush – nothing he’s not had and recovered from in the past. Like a bad cold, really.

“Whatever,” Louis says. He moves his hips so Oliver bounces and giggles, clapping his hands. “So is he going to call back or what?”

Zayn bites the inside of his mouth, “I think so. He said he would and I don’t really know how else he would get his phone back if he didn’t.”

Louis nods, “What if he never calls back. Will it be better or worse that you got to hear his voice one last time?”

“You’re an a-s-s,” Zayn says. He flips Louis off too but it’s behind Oliver's back so he doesn’t censor himself.

“This is kind of like Cinderella, you know,” Louis says. “A modern version.”

Zayn tilts his head and squints, considering. “Possibly. Except the part where I know the metaphorical shoe belongs to him so he just needs to tell me how to get it back to him.” _And ideally agree to go on a date or something._ Zayn doesn’t add that part out loud.

“What if he asks you to just mail it to him?” Louis laughs loudly and wakes Max up enough to stare at him before finally putting his head back down. “That would be a terrible end to this fairytale.”

Zayn hadn’t quite considered there may not be an in-person reunion to be had. “It’s not a fairytale, Louis,” he says.

“Right,” Louis nods, “Because there will never be a Disney movie about how you want to jerk off to the sound of his voice.”

“Oh my god,” Zayn says loudly, covering his face. “Oliver is right there.” He points at the baby who just continues bouncing obliviously.

“You’re the one who always says he can’t understand my context clues yet.” Louis sticks his tongue out at Zayn.

“Yet you spell everything out anyway,” Zayn says, “And I don’t think that by the way.”

“That what?” Louis raises his eyebrows.

“What you just said about his voice,” Zayn says, motioning around. “I barely know him.” Except of course, now, there is the seed of the thought about what that deep voice would sound like between warm sheets on a winter morning, or pressed up against a wall in a gasp, or moaning out loud with Zayn on his knees and – he needs to stop right now, immediately. Louis is still staring at him like he knows what Zayn is thinking so Zayn clears his throat and looks away pointedly.

“What’s his screensaver?” Louis nods toward the phone.

Zayn follows Louis’ gaze to the black screen of the sleeping phone. “I don’t know.”

“Aren’t you curious?” Louis sits up as Oliver starts getting fussy about the bouncing and reaches for his shoulders.

“I truthfully wasn’t,” Zayn says. He taps two fingers against the phone screen because now he definitely is. He purses his lips as Oliver settles with his face up against Louis’ neck. He always does it when he’s tired though Zayn can’t figure out how he possibly breathes like that.

“Well go on, look at it,” Louis says. He pats Oliver's back as he raises his eyebrows at Zayn as if to push him on.

Zayn’s finger hovers over the center button. “It seems like an invasion of privacy.”

“You’re holding his phone hostage until he agrees to meet with you,” Louis says flatly. “Let’s not get politically correct now.”

Zayn rolls his eyes and pulls a face before just going for it and pressing the button. The first thing he sees is a bunch of texts and missed calls – eleven from Niall Horan. He dismisses all of them without a second glance settling instead on the lock screen. Zayn laughs.

“Is it a nude?” Louis asks loudly from the couch.

“No, you idiot.” Zayn holds up the phone, “It’s a Scrabble board.”

Louis raises his eyebrows minutely and scrunches his nose, “He’s a massive nerd, isn’t he?”

“I think it’s sweet,” Zayn says, looking down at the phone again.

“Does it at least spell out dick or gay or something?”

Zayn studies the letters on the board eventually coming to one in particular. “No, it says ‘serendipity’.”

Louis’ lip curls. “What’s that?”

“It means a happy surprise,” Zayn says, racking his high school English vocabulary. He bites his lip over a too big smile.

Louis groans and adjusts Oliver against his chest. “I was wrong, he’s not a massive nerd, he is a giant loser just like you.” Zayn rolls his eyes but doesn’t give Louis a response.

The mystery guy doesn’t call Zayn back that night. Once Louis and a sleeping Oliver leave, Zayn sits on his couch reading with one phone sitting on either of his knees. He doesn’t even know the guy’s name yet he’s desperately waiting for a call from him. In his mind he refers to green eyes as Niall but that’s not right because Niall Horan is someone blonde with blue eyes – definitely not Zayn’s mystery guy. Eventually, he falls asleep on the couch with Max, and with the phones on the coffee table and the book open on his chest. No one can stop him if his dreams are of snowy nights and warm mornings, low voices and flushed cheeks, golden boots and green eyes.

…

The next time Niall Horan – but not actually Niall Horan—calls Zayn, it’s the following afternoon and he’s getting ready to make himself a sandwich for lunch. He is in the middle of balancing a jar of mayonnaise, turkey meat, cheese, a jar of pickles and a loaf of bread in his arms while trying to kick Max away from jumping at him. He hasn’t learned many manners in his short five years of life though Zayn hardly blames the dog for that oversight.

Even with his hands full, the moment the screen lights up with the picture of the blonde guy and starts ringing, Zayn drops everything on the counter at once and grabs for the phone, barely stopping the mayonnaise from rolling right off the counter with his free hand. He answers even though he’s breathless which he tries to play off by breathing away from the phone as he catches up with his lungs.

“Zayn?”

There should be no eruption of butterflies at some guy simply saying his name but that ship has sailed for Zayn and he has to deal with the fluttering wings in his stomach anyway. “Yeah,” he says simply once the fluttering subsides.

“How are you?”

Zayn smiles at the warm voice and vaguely wonders if it’s possible to miss a voice after only a couple days of barely even hearing it. “I’m good, yeah. What about you? You’re the one who hung up in a hurry last night.” Mystery guy’s laughter is even better than his voice and Zayn bites his lip to keep from smiling too wide. He knows Max will just judge him unnecessarily.

“I got a kitten for Christmas,” he says, “A tortoise shell one with all the different colors on her.”

“As a gift?” Zayn gets back to making his sandwich as they talk. He is hungry after all.

“I bought her myself actually.”

“Really?”

“I’ve been wanting one for a long time, yeah. The only problem is she’s kind of nuts.” His laughter comes out in a huff, “A lot nuts actually. She was climbing the curtains yesterday and then knocked over my roommates lava lamp. It was a bit of a disaster.”

“Hang on,” Zayn grins, “Your roommate has a lava lamp? That’s so vintage.”

“I know,” he says. “I’m going to tell him you said that because he doesn’t believe me when I say it’s a blessing that Fritz broke it.” There’s a loud voice in the back and then muffled sounds before he comes back to the line. “He’s also the one letting me use his phone to call you so he said I owe him a new lava lamp.”

“Niall Horan?”

“Yeah, that's him. We’ve been friends since we were in the dorms as freshmen.”

“That’s how I met my best friend too actually.” Zayn pauses and then changes the subject before anything else can distract him, “What’s your name?”

“My name?”

“Yeah.” Zayn gets two slices of bread out of the bag and sets them on the counter face up. “That’s not so weird is it? I’m talking on your phone right now, you know.”

“Oh yeah, no. I just didn’t realize I hadn’t told you. I’m Harry.”

“Harry,” Zayn repeats. He reaches for the mayonnaise. “This is good because I’ve just been calling you mystery guy in my head.”

“Wait, you can go back to calling me mystery guy. That sounds cooler.”

“Nope, Harry. We’re stuck like this. Want to tell me your last name so we can really be official?”

“Harry Styles.”

Zayn pauses, “That sounds fake.”

“My name sounds fake?” Harry’s voice goes up an octave and Zayn laughs. “How can you just say that?”

“Sounds like a porn star, babe.” Zayn sucks his lips in – the babe definitely just slipped out without any pretense or warning.

“I could make a couple dirty jokes but I don’t think we’re on that level right now,” Harry says. “Considering you stole my phone and all.”

Zayn laughs and rolls his eyes. “I didn’t steal your phone. Though I can’t exactly explain how I ended up with it either.”

“Sounds like the words of a real thief,” he says.

“Oh, I’m sorry, are you an investigator now?” Zayn finishes evening the mayonnaise on his sandwich and tucks the phone between his shoulder and ear as he goes for the cheese and meat next.

“Could be.”

Zayn imagines that Harry would be a pretty good investigator – one of those one’s who has a sweet smile and gets a confession out of criminals, no sweat. He already has Zayn mindlessly chatting away without hesitation. “Are you ever going to ask for your phone back?” Zayn asks while carefully layering turkey on his sandwich.

“I don’t know,” Harry says and Zayn swears he can hear him smile. “You’re lovely to talk to so I was planning to see how long I could drag this out.”

Zayn definitely doesn’t grin so hard his teeth gnash together, nor does he wiggle his hips a bit. If he does, no one is there to see him besides Max who doesn’t know human words. Yet. (Zayn hasn’t given up hope.)

“That’s true.”

“Did you just call yourself lovely to talk to?”

“No,” Zayn laughs into the line. “I was thinking the same about you, I mean.” He doesn’t add that he thinks Harry is lovely to look at too.

“So we should meet up, then?”

The butterflies in Zayn’s stomach wiggle around but he tells them to get a grip. It’s not a date. “To do a phone exchange?”

“Yeah.” There’s a prolonged pause and Zayn is careful not to interrupt it. “And maybe to get a cup of coffee together?”

Zayn’s heart picks up pace and he stares at his half made sandwich as he tries to control his voice. “Sure, yeah. That would be really nice.” _Really nice._ He slaps his hand to his forehead.

Harry clears his throat, “Okay, awesome.” He laughs for a moment, “I was really nervous to ask you that.”

“To meet up?” Zayn smiles, “Why? Did you honestly think I would hold your phone hostage from you?”

“Not that,” Harry says. Then his voice goes quieter, “The part about getting coffee.”

Zayn matches his tone, “Why’s that?”

“I don’t really ask anyone out like, ever,” Harry says.

“You did it very well,” Zayn says, smiling through his words. “I was shocked and impressed if that helps you at all.”

“Loads,” Harry says and Zayn can tell he’s smiling too.

“So, when should we meet?”

“Not tonight.”

“Not tonight?” Zayn repeats.

“I’m going to a friend’s birthday party,” Harry says.

“We could meet before that?” Zayn suggests, “I don’t want you to have to be without your phone for another night.”

Harry pauses, “Yeah, but what if after coffee we want to get dinner and then drinks and then dessert, you know? I don’t want us to run out of time.”

“Whoa, there, Mr. Styles. What kind of guy do you take me for? Dinner, drinks and dessert?”

“That’s a lot isn’t it? Too much?”

“It’s a lot of consumption of things,” Zayn says. He bites his lip as he lays out the pickles on his sandwich and then adds on the second piece of bread. Then, because he thinks Harry is probably reeling in embarrassment if he’s at all like Zayn, he says, “But that’s okay because I don’t want to run out of time either.”

He’s not sure that it’s possible to feel Harry’s relief over the phone and he might imagine it all together. “When should we meet then?” Harry asks.

Zayn debates for only a moment. “Tomorrow night?”

“Yeah,” Harry says slowly. “That would be good.”

“It’s a plan.” Zayn laughs, “I was just going to say text me where you want to meet but I guess that won’t happen, huh?”

“Ha. Ha.” Harry laughs even over his fake laughter. “You’re a jokester aren’t you?”

Zayn smiles, “Maybe. Where should we meet?”

“Sweetbrew?”

Zayn nearly jumps at the name. Sweetbrew is only a block from his apartment and he realizes that Harry could be anywhere near him even right then. He bites his tongue instead of asking for his address, deciding to savor the wait until they can meet up. “That’s my favorite coffee shop,” he says instead.

“Really?” Harry sounds almost excited. “I go every morning before class.”

There are a few universities around downtown and Zayn half wonders how he’s never seen Harry in Sweetbrew before or, maybe, if he’s just missed him each time. That seems like a very serendipitous thing to happen for them to meet each other anyway but he doesn’t say that. It’s probably best he doesn’t know that Zayn has snooped his lock screen and has taken a couple pictures of his dog with the phone too.

“It’s a date then,” Zayn says. “Tomorrow. Say three?”

It goes quiet. “Sorry,” Harry says after a moment, “I was nodding and I forgot you couldn’t see me.” There’s a loud cackle in the background which catches Zayn by surprise. He hears Harry say “Stop laughing at me, Niall,” and Zayn has to bite his lip to keep from doing the same.

“Soon,” Zayn says, “You can nod all you want and I’ll even be there to see it.”

“Will you bring the green gloves?”

Zayn smiles, “As long as you bring the black ones.”

“Deal,” Harry says. Zayn can hear his smile.

He cuts his sandwich down the middle before starting in on eating. They both stay on the line and talk about random things like how they’re both making lunch – Harry pasta and Zayn his sandwich—and then a little bit about Christmas and how Harry only spent it with his sister and her boyfriend because their parents moved to Alaska when Harry finished high school and he doesn’t see them as much.

“You should have come to my house for Christmas Eve,” Zayn says. “I have a huge family and they would love to have new blood coming through. Your sister too, of course.” Only after he hears himself say it does he realize how weird that sounds considering he barely knows Harry now and as of Christmas morning they still hadn’t exchanged more than ten words. He rests his forehead on the low-hanging cupboard and tries to figure out how to back himself all the way out of his statement.

It turns out, he doesn’t have to. Harry just laughs and says, “Next time.”

“Next time, yeah,” Zayn says back just as easily. It takes him a moment to realize next time is already a year away and that kind of promise is a big one. Part of him tells him it’s only a throwaway promise made between two people just getting to know each other but the other part gets a little louder and tells him it might be kind of wonderful if the promise of next time with Harry does come true. He tells that part to be quiet before it ruins everything he doesn’t yet have.

They finally say their goodbyes once Zayn has finished his sandwich and chased the crumbs around his plate with his finger. When he hangs up he sees they were on the phone for nearly an hour and he hopes their first date is worth it enough that Harry doesn’t notice his phone bill may be a bit higher than usual.

…

It ends up being a good thing that Zayn didn’t volunteer to meet Harry that night because only a short while later, Louis calls to remind him they’re celebrating his birthday since Oliver is going off with his mom for the weekend.

That, of course, is how Zayn ends up squished in a booth at a corner bar with guys they went to college with, a few shots gone, and a full glass of beer in front of him. Louis barely gets out to socialize let alone drink since he’s welcomed Oliver to the world so he’s like a caged dog running loose and Zayn tries to keep one eye on him at all times.

Eventually Zayn and Louis end up standing at the bar with some of his friends who played soccer with Louis in college, all taking shots and burping loudly at each other. Zayn almost doesn’t notice when the phone in his pocket starts vibrating.

He knows he shouldn’t have brought Harry’s phone out with him in the first place but even more now that it keeps vibrating with messages and calls. Zayn has decided Niall Horan’s are the only calls he’ll answer – assuming it must be Harry on the other side. At least, that’s what he hopes. This time, when the phone goes off he ignores it without checking the name while he takes another shot. When it starts up again, though, he gets nervous that someone is actually looking for Harry and he takes it out of his pocket.

Louis must catch a glimpse of the pink case because he full on screams. “You didn’t bring his phone with you, Zayn. Please tell me this is a mirage.”

Zayn doesn’t even look up at him. “It’s a mirage, Lou. You’re drunk. This is my phone not Harry’s.”

He’s not sure what Louis says next because he sees Niall Horan’s face on his screen. He tries to answer but his hand-eye coordination isn’t best when he’s sober and definitely not when he’s tipsy. He misses the swipe line completely and by the time he gets his finger on it the call has ended and he stares at the screen.

The thing with Harry missing so many calls over the last day is that they have conglomerated into one big mass that says fifty-three missed calls. When Zayn swipes on that, it only disappears and he can’t pull Niall’s call in particular up again. He spends a whole three minutes trying anyway despite completely understanding it’s impossible for the phone to function how he needs it to.

He’s distracted from the phone issues when Louis squeals loudly and he has to look up because Louis never squeals. Ever. But then he sees the cause of it because Liam Payne is behind Louis and sliding his hands around his waist and kissing the side of his neck. Zayn forgets about the phone in his hand completely as he watches them.

He knew that Louis and Liam were talking – Liam went to school with them-- but he hadn’t realized where talking had escalated to from there. Liam whispers something in Louis’ ear that makes him blush. When Louis first had Oliver he essentially beat everyone off with a stick who even thought he was attractive until he realized he could find someone who liked Oliver and him as a package deal. Liam must be one of those.

Zayn gets so busy looking at the way they’re talking into each other’s mouths as though that is how they hear each other he almost misses the pink phone ringing again. He catches it this time though and answers quickly, pressing it to his ear and plugging his ear with his other finger.

“Zayn?”

“Harry?” He might be yelling into the phone. He looks over to see Liam and Louis both staring at him open-mouthed and he realizes he definitely is. “Just a second, babe.”

“Babe,” Louis mimics, laughing.

“Who is that?” Liam asks as Zayn skirts passed them toward the open door of the bar.

“I have to explain,” is the last thing Zayn hears as he pushes through the crowd.

He grabs his jacket from near the door and pulls it on before going outside into the slush and thin layer of fresh snow. He tries to stand near the doorway for some of the heat from the building but it’s like a whisper in a crowd compared to the freezing temperatures that turns his breath into tiny puff balls.

“Harry? You there?”

There’s movement on the other line, scuffling of things. Then, Harry’s voice floods the line and it sounds so sweet that Zayn knows for sure he’s beyond tipsy and fully drunk. “I’m here,” he says. “And I’m drunk.”

Zayn laughs. “Me as well.”

“You’re here?” Harry’s voice is laced with hope that Zayn doesn’t let himself read too far into.

“Nah, not there. Just drunk. I had to go outside the bar I was in.”

“I ducked in a hallway in a closet,” Harry says. “Are you at a birthday party too?”

Zayn leans back against the wall as a group of people comes out of the bar. “I am actually. My best friend, Louis, the one with the baby—“

“Oliver is the baby, right?”

Zayn grins, “Yeah. His birthday was Christmas Eve so we’re celebrating a little late.”

“The night we met, then?”

“Technically. I don’t know that we really met that night,” Zayn says. “I do know that I thought you were pretty in your golden boots with your hair up in a bun.”

“My hair is up in a bun right now too. Silver boots though.”

Zayn really can’t stop smiling. It might be stamped onto his face permanently. “I’m sure you look very good then.”

“I’m sure I do too,” Harry says, laughing a bit. “I wasn’t even planning to get Gemma gloves at the store that night. Did you know that?”

“Really?”

“Really. I was browsing and then I thought, ‘Is that a male model over by the glove display?’”

“Shut up.” Even in the cold, Zayn’s cheeks go warm.

“I did,” Harry says, “So I moved over there to stand closer and then I got too nervous to say anything.”

“I thought about you after I left,” Zayn says, his brain to mouth filter turned off for the night, evidently. “I wished I would have at least gotten your name or something.”

“Same,” Harry says. “Then I got home and I didn’t have your name or my phone and I had the wrong gloves.”

“I’m sorry about that.” Zayn tucks his free hand into his pocket, “This time tomorrow night you’ll have all three though.”

“That’s true,” Harry says. There’s a pause and Zayn would almost think he’s hung up if there wasn’t the dull sounds of a bar muffled in the background. “What if we didn’t wait?”

“What?” Zayn’s heartbeat picks up in his chest.

“What if we just saw each other tonight instead?”

Zayn looks up at the sky and then back through the doors behind him where he can see Liam and Louis sitting at the bar with an open bar stool next to them. He rolls his lips together, debating. “Where are you right now?”

There’s a blast of noise on the other side and Harry yells for Zayn to hold on over the sound. Zayn rolls his eyes and pushes away from the pub to walk to the closest corner to check the street signs. He’s never been good with directions.

Harry’s laughter comes through the phone clear as the sounds behind him fade. “I’m taking Niall’s phone outside and he’s not happy about it.”

Zayn smiles, “Do you think Niall will be happy when you give his phone back for good?”

“Not sure,” Harry says. He must be outside because the background sounds have gone silent around him and Zayn can hear his words slur together slightly more. “I think he likes having a reason to yell at me. I’m usually such an angel otherwise.” His laughter comes out in a surprising squawk just then and Zayn has a feeling he’s not exactly the angel as he says.

“Where are you?” Zayn asks, looking up at the signs overhead. “I’m on Everett.”

“No way,” Harry’s voice comes out a little breathless as though he’s walking quickly. “I am too. I need to figure out what cross street.”

“Did you put on a jacket?” Zayn asks as paper thin dimes of snow start dancing down from the sky.

“Yes and I have a hat too,” Harry says. “Do you have a hat? Your ears will freeze off.”

Zayn laughs and tugs up the hood on his jacket. “I put my hood on. How’s that?”

“Pretty good.”

Zayn tries to picture Harry trooping down the road to the nearest street sign and it makes him laugh.

“Why are you laughing?” Harry sounds incredulous and it does nothing to deter Zayn.

“Because this is ridiculous,” Zayn says. He ignores the part of his mind that supplies, _This is a story we’ll tell our kids someday_ because he’s not an embarrassing sap out loud…only in his head. “Can you see the sign yet?” He fills the silence of his unspoken thoughts with the question.

“Yeah, kind of. I’m squinting,” Harry says. “I’m on fourth and Everett.”

Zayn feels a warmth in his chest as he realizes how close they are, “I’m on first and Everett. Three blocks.”

There’s a flood of butterflies right then—the nervous ones. Up to this moment, they’ve been living in some sort of romantic comedy, one Zayn knows can’t actually last. The idea of finally breaking the bubble flairs in his stomach but the thought of actually getting to see Harry is a different kind of warmth.

“Should we meet in the middle?” Harry’s voice goes winded between the words like he’s already starting to walk.

Zayn nods before remembering he’s on the phone, “Let’s.”

He walks for two blocks, dodging snow drifts and watching as the tiny new specks of snow collect on his jacket. His face is cold to the touch and his teeth chatter slightly. Harry tells him about the birthday party he’s supposed to be at and how Niall has a girlfriend so he was essentially a third wheel and how he was drinking Tequila Sunrises despite the fact he hates them. They bond over the fact Zayn does too; he puked up one too many of them after he first turned twenty-one.

“What street are you at?” Zayn pauses under the sign that says third. There’s no way, or a very hard to believe chance, that they’ve been walking toward each other for this long and not run into each other especially considering Harry is slightly taller than Zayn and his legs can probably cover more distance.

“Forty-first," Harry says. “Oh fuck.”

“Forty-first?” Zayn drops his head back and laughs. “Are you saying you started on forty-fourth?”

“This is very embarrassing but I think so.” Harry groans, “I thought I was just drunk and seeing the number twice.”

“Bright side is you’re not as drunk as you think,” Zayn says. He starts to walk back toward the original bar he’s been at for the past few hours. There’s no way he’s walking forty more blocks. “This is probably the universe’s way of telling us we need to meet tomorrow like we planned.”

“Yeah, well the universe has a terrible sense of humor. I’m freezing,” Harry says. Zayn can hear his teeth chatter across the line.

“Makes me want to go get a Tequila Sunrise just to warm up,” Zayn says.

“Does puking make you feel warmer?” Harry laughs, “I was unaware.”

Zayn rolls his eyes even as he laughs. They talk awhile longer once they get back to their respective bars until Zayn is sure his fingers are going to fall off and Harry says his entire face is numb. “So I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” Zayn says, inching closer to the warmth of the door. “Back to the original plan.”

“Sweetbrew at three, yes,” Harry confirms. “Zayn?”

“Yes, Harry?”

“Is it terrible to say that I’m really looking forward to seeing you and I haven’t been this excited about a first date in a very long time.”

Zayn’s insides dance around or maybe it’s the butterflies at it again. “No,” he says, “That’s not terrible at all.”

Harry sighs loudly, “I’ll probably be incredibly embarrassed to have said that tomorrow morning."

“Don’t be,” Zayn says. “I’m just as excited about seeing you.” It’s quiet and Zayn can only hope that somewhere across the line Harry is grinning as hard as he is.

They say final goodbyes a moment later and Zayn walks into the bar to find Liam and Louis staring at him, eyebrows rising in sync. “What?” He sits down besides Liam and pats his back to say hello. “Nothing happened, we just talked on the phone.”

Liam and Louis share a knowing glance – one of those terrible one’s that only people in couples ever do. “If you thought we were accusing you of having sex on the side of the road, you’re wrong,” Louis says, leaning across Liam. “If you thought we were wondering why it looks like you just walked through an arctic tundra, you’re correct.”

Zayn looks down at himself to see the snow slowly melting all over him and his face kissed in pinks as red when he catches a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror behind the bar. He smiles at Liam and Louis both a bit sheepishly before dusting off the remainder of the whiteness and rubbing his cheeks to get blood flowing again. He’s not even embarrassed because tomorrow he’s going to see Harry.

…

Three in the afternoon drags its feet arriving the next day and Zayn gets restless. He does some lesson plans since school will be starting again soon and cleans his apartment, including the refrigerator. He goes grocery shopping and then he walks Max through the snow even if he protests heavily at the coldness on his paws and refuses to budge at one point. He even manages to see Louis though Louis is extremely hungover and trying to get rid of his headache before he sees Oliver in the evening. That visit includes a lot of yelling at Zayn to stop pacing because it makes Louis’ head hurt worse.

An hour before he is supposed to meet Harry, Zayn finally gets dressed. Showering and arranging his hair into something that looks effortless, takes him a full thirty minutes. He puts on a new grey sweater he got for Christmas and his jeans that don’t have tears with a pair of combat boots that are more for functionality of walking on the slippery sidewalks than fashion in this instance. He paces some more before deciding that being early isn’t a crime. He gets a black jacket from the closet and he goes out the door but nearly forgets the green gloves and Harry’s phone on his counter so he has to go back inside and grab them all while Max stares at him forlornly from his crate. Even with the Christmas tree packed up, there’s no way Max is getting free reign of their home.

Zayn tries to walk slowly to Sweetbrew but it doesn’t work as well as he hopes because it takes him less than ten minutes to get there. It’s not too busy inside considering the time of day so Zayn orders a coffee at the counter and finds a table easily. He arranges the phone and gloves on the table space near the other empty chair across from him and laughs to himself, swearing he’s read about this in terrible books before. He notices a woman across the way staring peculiarly at him so he clears his throat and tries to school his face into something else more serious.

About five minutes before three he’s swept with a wave of nerves about what is going to happen. His coffee is gone and racing through his veins on a race track that makes his leg jump. He squeaks, out loud, when his knee jams against the underside of the table. The girl from earlier looks at him again and he ducks his head.

There’s a clock hanging behind the counter in the front of the store and Zayn stares at it as the long hand clicks to the top and then over and over further again. There’s barely a chance that Harry would stand Zayn up considering the phone sitting right across from him. But by fifteen after three, there’s still no Harry.

Zayn is well aware that life isn’t perfect and things may have gone wrong to delay Harry’s arrival. Before he can dwell long enough on that possibility to actually start worrying about Harry’s wellbeing his eye catches on the placard in the center of his table and the bolded font exclaiming to, “Come visit Sweetbrew at one of our eight new locations”.

Zayn actually starts laughing even as he collapses onto his forearms on the table and presses his forehead against the arm of his jacket. Not once did he, nor Harry for that matter, specify which location they were going to meet at and after the escapade of the night before with the numbered streets they really, really should have. The worst part – or perhaps the funniest to Zayn right then—is that he can’t even call Harry to ask where he is because his phone is at the wrong location with Zayn.

He waits awhile longer before settling on the fact that Harry isn’t coming – at least to this location—and he decides to walk back to his apartment. The sun is starting to sink in the sky as clouds press in. It doesn’t look like it will snow more at least but the temperature has started to drop significantly.

Zayn carries Harry’s phone in his hand so when it rings he glances down. It’s an unknown number and after the amount of calls he’s screened for Harry in the past two days none of them have been unknown. On the off chance it’s not a telemarketer, he answers.

“Did you know there are eight locations of Sweetbrew in this city?” Harry asks as soon as Zayn says, “Hello.”

Zayn laughs and pauses on the sidewalk. He starts to move to one side to get away from all of the other foot traffic. “As of fifteen minutes ago, I do know that. What one are you at?”

“The one on University Street.”

“Ah,” Zayn says, “And I’m on Cross Street.”

“We fucked that one up didn’t we?” Harry laughs too.

“Where are you calling me from?”

“I borrowed a nice ladies cell phone. She felt bad for me, I think. She also probably thinks I got stood up.”

“Must be the pretty face, babe. No one felt bad for me when you didn’t come, they looked at me like I was nuts.”

“They probably think you’re too good looking for your own health. Deserve some disappointments here and there.”

Zayn rolls his eyes. “Well, should we meet in the middle? The actual middle this time. Don’t tell me you’re on University Street in Montana or something.”

“You can’t see me but I just stuck my tongue out at you.”

“Don’t worry, I believe it.”

“There’s an ice skating rink on Crescent, that’s the middle, yeah?”

Zayn tries to create a mental map, “Probably closer to you than me but I can make it work.”

“Wow, don’t work too hard over there.”

“Shut up,” Zayn says. There’s no sting because he still can’t stop smiling. “See you soon, then?”

“Let’s clarify this just in case – we’re meeting at the ice skating rink on Crescent the one with all the animal statues at the front?”

Zayn bites his lip over his smile, “Yes, that’s the one.” He can’t think of any other ice skating rinks within walking distance but it’s probably better to be safe rather than sorry.

“Good. Then, yes, see you soon.”

Zayn hangs up and starts walking as the sky gets a little darker and the street lights come on. This time, there are no nerves fluttering around – waiting an extra hour will do that to a guy. Anxiety has dissolved into excitement to see Harry, to finally go on their date.

As Zayn gets closer, he has flashbacks of the movie _Serendipity,_ his own personal guilty pleasure, when the two main characters meet at an ice rink. Though, in that story John Cusack is laying on the wet ice as the snow comes down over him when Kate Beckinsale finds him. Zayn really, really hopes Harry is not that dramatic because Zayn knows that he will face plant if he has to take even one step onto the ice.

Zayn works his way through the crowd surrounding the rink though most people seem to be headed toward him—probably heading out to get dinner by now. By the time he gets up to the edge of the ice he can see there are still plenty of people not giving up yet as blurs of bright color twirl around on their skates. The overhead lights have flickered on for night skating and even in the shadow Zayn can see his breath come out in clouded puffs.

In hindsight, deciding where exactly to meet Harry _at_ the skating rink would have been a good option as would have been asking what exactly he’s wearing. It’s a question that’s always a good ice breaker for phone sex but also to avoid playing Where’s Waldo in a crowd of people wearing winter jackets. Zayn shoves his hands in his pocket and turns in a slow circle but mostly resigns himself to waiting for Harry to show himself first.

Fate must think they have waited long enough to meet because he sees Harry in the far corner of the rink wearing a brown jacket and a dark blue beanie, standing by a bench and looking around, rising up and down on his tiptoes as though to try and see further. Zayn shamelessly admires for only a moment – strong jaw line and tight jeans again—before weaving his way toward Harry, not eager to keep him waiting any longer.

The direct beeline must catch Harry’s eye because he looks over when Zayn’s halfway there, his face lighting up with his smile. “Zayn.”

Zayn doesn’t hear his voice but he sees his lips form around his name and his heart picks up speed just slightly. He can’t remember the last time he was ever so excited about something so fresh and sweet like what he has with Harry – whatever it is they’re building. “I found you,” Zayn says once he’s closer, smiling wider. “I was worried there for a second.”

“I know,” Harry says. “I thought I was going to have stay out here all night until you showed up.”

Zayn has a chilling flash of both of them waiting in separate spots for the other to move first but he shakes his head. The universe wasn’t planning to make them fools again tonight. “I believe this is yours.” Zayn holds out the phone to Harry.

Harry takes it and his lips twitch into a smile, “It was kind of nice being disconnected for a couple of days. Very Zen.”

“Except for using Niall’s phone, right?”

Harry coughs and looks away, “Minor detail.”

“And these are yours as well,” Zayn says pulling out the green gloves from his pocket.

Harry takes them but then his eyes go wide as he pats down his own pockets and shoves his hands inside of them before pulling them up empty. “I forgot yours. I promise I didn’t mean to.” His cheeks turn the lightest shade of pink and he puts his hands in his pockets again. Zayn is hopelessly endeared.

“That’s okay,” he says. “You were just so excited to see me you ran out of the house?”

Harry smirks, “Something like that, yeah.”

Zayn glances around, “Should we go get coffee now or are we having our first date right here?”

Harry’s shoulders sink slightly as he shrugs, “I walked past another Sweetbrew on my way in the park. We could go there?”

Zayn purses his lips, “That was the first plan. So, might as well?”

Harry leads the way back across the skating rink and Zayn tells him about how he used to come as kids with his sisters but was never very good at it.

“I’ve never been,” Harry says. “I was thinking I could like, be on the ice when you got here but then I figured I might be in the hospital instead and that’s not a good look.”

“This is embarrassing that I even know this, but you would have been like John Cusack in _Serendipity_ lying out on the ice.”

Harry’s mouth drops into a perfect circle, “When Kate Beckinsale finds him? That’s the best part of the movie.” He tugs down on one edge of his beanie. “I haven’t seen that one in such a long time. It’s always been one of my favorites.”

Zayn barely loses half a step as he looks over, “Actually?”

Harry nods and curls his lips into his mouth. “Unless that’s really dorky in which case I enjoy Fight Club as well.”

“As do I,” Zayn allows, “But I wouldn’t mind watching _Serendipity_ with you sometime. If you wanted.” The last part comes out sounding lame even to him.

“Date number two maybe?” Harry wiggles his eyebrows and it makes Zayn laugh. He’s not sure he’ll ever feel all that lame when Harry is his competition.

They order together at Sweetbrew and Harry pays though Zayn says that he’s going to pay him back with something else. Harry hums and pretends not to hear him. Zayn nudges him and he lights up from the inside when Harry smiles down at him.

There’s a corner booth that’s meant for six but they grab it for themselves with their giant mugs of coffee – Harry with a mint mocha and Zayn with a cup of decaf since he downed a full sixteen ounces of black coffee while he was waiting for Harry the first time. Harry laughs when he tells him, says he was so worried that he’d been stood up he forgot to get a coffee altogether.

“What did you think? This was all a grand heist for me to steal your phone?”

“I wasn’t sure,” Harry says with his eyes going wide. “When you think a stranger is cute you don’t necessarily expect to hear from them again let alone that they want to go on a date with you.”

“I am pretty cute, aren’t I?” Zayn laughs at himself and Harry rolls his eyes but he’s smiling too.

They eat warm scones – splitting a cinnamon one and a chocolate chip one between them. Conversation isn’t stilted the way Zayn has had to face with first dates in the past, though that may be more of a nod to his and Harry’s unorthodox meeting than anything special between them. Still, Zayn isn’t too jaded to say that there isn’t something between them, something almost palpable that makes them able to say embarrassing things without skirting around the edges and talk like they’ve known each other longer than such a short and distorted time.

They talk about both growing up in the same city and how they have never ran in the same circles or even saw each other before. “Unless you got plastic surgery recently?” Zayn motions at Harry’s face and he gapes back at him in full offense before he laughs so hard he snorts.

They talk about families – Zayn’s too big family and Harry’s dwindling one because his parent’s have gone to Alaska and he’s not connected to his aunts or uncles. “I say dwindling like they’re dying off,” he says almost conversationally and Zayn chokes on his scone.

Zayn still thinks he should ask Harry to his house for big holidays so he can be around other people – that’s another thing they talk about, how Zayn doesn’t mind being alone and Harry can’t stand it. “Even if it’s just sitting quietly in a room together or like the same apartment; Not even talking and it still works for me,” he says.

“Noted,” Zayn says with a wink that seems to hold the promise of quiet times together forthcoming.

They discuss their pets – Fritz the cat and Max the dog – and their sisters, how Zayn is a teacher and loves it and why Harry wants to be a pediatric nurse. Harry takes his beanie off at one point in the middle of the conversation and Zayn tells him he looks like a baby lion which makes Harry attempt a growl even as his cheeks turn red.

He’s easy to make blush but then again, so is Zayn. And Harry makes him blush a lot—his sentences dotted with sweet words and the way he listens to Zayn speak like he’s actually saying something important. Zayn has gotten rather used to Louis who listens to the first and last parts of what he says and then tries to piece together the middle. Through it all, though, Zayn notices that Harry doesn’t look at his phone once. Zayn knows, firsthand, how many unread texts and missed calls are on there but Harry doesn’t let any of it distract from their time together. If Zayn thought he had a crush on him that day in the department store, things have only gone straight toward the sun from there.

All in, it’s something of a perfect first date. So good that they don’t realize Sweetbrew is closing until one of the baristas purposely starts sweeping in front of their table to get their attention. They clear their table once they see her and put their jackets back on, Zayn holding the door for Harry as the go out into the icy cold night air.

Harry rubs his hands together and looks up at the sky. There are grey stringy clouds and he glances toward Zayn. “You think it’ll snow more?”

Zayn shrugs, “Hope not. I’m supposed to go into my classroom tomorrow to work on a couple of things and my parent’s for dinner. I really hope I don’t have to walk.”

Harry raises his eyebrows, “That’d suck.” He turns to face Zayn and goes up on his toes once before flattening down. “You’ll probably want to take those gloves to your sister tomorrow, then?”

The gloves have been the furthest thing from Zayn’s mind the last couple of hours. “I probably should,” he says once he considers it. They both stare at each other a beat like they’re brainstorming how to ask from more time with the other – or at least that’s what Zayn is doing. Even if Harry’s not, Zayn takes over for both of them. “Could I walk you home and maybe grab them from you?”

Harry grins, “Yes.” He must think it comes out too quick because he shrugs, “If you have time.”

Zayn doesn’t call him on it, he just motions forward, “Lead the way, babe.”

They walk on for close to fifteen minutes and somewhere in the middle Zayn notices the way their fingers keep accidentally tangling and the way they keep apologizing for bumping each other. So when Zayn reaches out and just takes Harry’s hand it’s fitting that Harry jumps and apologizes before realizing what exactly is going on. Then he just smiles at Zayn and gets back into explaining how he wants to go to nursing school in the city and he’ll know for sure if he got in in January. Blindly and riding on absolutely nothing, Zayn squeezes his hand and hopes he does.

Harry lives in the middle of a string of duplex condos all in shades of blue and grey. It’s on the edge of campus, he says, because Niall is a year older and didn’t want to be stuck in an undergrad circus. Zayn definitely gets that – he moved downtown as soon as he graduated with the money he’d been saving through school. Of course he ended up moving into a circus of his own with Louis and his son living just one floor above him but that’s not the exact point, he tells Harry.

Harry lets go of Zayn’s hand to get his key out of his pocket and unlock the front door. “Do you want to come in?” He barely opens the door and stops, looking at Zayn over his shoulder.

“Sure,” Zayn says but Harry doesn’t budge. “Are you stuck or--?”

Harry sticks his tongue out the corner of his mouth, “I’m trying to figure out how to get in without my cat getting out.”

Zayn laughs and steps in closer toward the door. “You open it, go in to distract him and I’ll shut the door after us. And then, tomorrow, you can get a crate for your cat.” Harry looks over his shoulder smiling and his face is so close Zayn nearly kisses him on accident--Nothing to say about how he wants to do it on purpose too.

“Ready?” Harry asks, shuffling around a bit.

Zayn nods and then Harry pushes the door open and jumps inside the dark apartment while Zayn follows and closes the door quickly behind them.

“I can’t see anything,” Harry says, bumping into Zayn in the doorway.

Letting his arm slide along the wall, Zayn waits to bump into a light switch before flipping it up. A center light illuminates the room where a small tortoise shell cat stares at them from her perch on the back of the couch.

“Vicious cat, Harry?”

Harry pouts his bottom lip, “This morning when I came back from the gym she was clawing at the door to get out.”

“Must have seen me and decided to stay, eh?” Zayn grins and puts his arms out to the side.

Harry turns around to say something but Zayn isn’t sure what because he’s standing so close again their chests are nearly touching and he can smell vanilla in Harry’s coat. Harry’s eyes graze over Zayn’s face and focus on his lips. Zayn licks his tongue over his bottom lip as his eyes go heavy just at the way Harry is watching him.

“Must have,” Harry says finally. He clears his throat and steps away, Zayn feels it like a bee sting.

The apartment is nice inside – two big couches and a clean kitchen, a sliding screen door in the back and three doors off to the side that must fittingly be two bedrooms and a bathroom. Zayn likes the little details; Human Physiology books on the coffee table, throw blankets on the couch, and two blue placemats on the counter with a bar stool by each.

“Here they are,” Harry says picking up the black pair of gloves from the counter. He hands them over with a smile.

“Thank you,” Zayn says. He puts the gloves in his jacket pocket and makes sure they’re tucked away nice and deep. With his usual luck, they’ll fall out on his walk home anyway.

“I had a lot of fun tonight,” Harry says, taking a step closer. His eyes focus somewhere over Zayn’s head and then meet his straight on. “Even before this, like just talking to you on the phone and now being with you, it’s just been,” he pauses and nods, “Really good.”

Zayn smiles softly, “Same for me. Thank you for putting up with me stealing your phone and not making me mail it back to you.” Harry tilts his head, confused at Zayn and Louis’ joke but Zayn dismisses it with a shake of his head.

Harry smiles back just as gently and the moment hangs. Zayn means to interrupt it with a gentle kiss to Harry’s lips – it seems as though it fits into their context as simple as the next breath. What he doesn’t expect is for Harry to react like he does, deepening the kiss and holding Zayn around the hips, pulling him closer. It’s feels like a match has lit between them and Zayn knocks Harry’s beanie off his head to twist his fingers in his hair, opening his mouth to Harry and sighing against him.

“I have to go,” Zayn says when Harry starts to press kisses up along his jaw and then down his throat. Harry makes a humming sound and Zayn tilts his head to expose his neck further, chills rising on his skin when he feels Harry’s teeth.

Everything is getting to be too much too quickly and if Zayn doesn’t stop soon, he’ll need to push Harry back against the nearest wall and devour him. Every inch--Twice if there’s time. He curls his fingers in Harry’s hair and goes light headed when he groans because he wants that sounds again and again and he wants to be the one responsible for each of them.

“You have to go,” Harry says against Zayn’s skin, slowing down his assault right over Zayn’s pulse where Zayn wonders if he can feel his heartbeat beneath his lips.

“I know,” Zayn says, coming down from the brief fog enough to realize Harry is agreeing with him. He loosens his grip on Harry’s hair and runs it through with his hands as Harry stands up straight. Despite Zayn’s smoothing, Harry’s hair is fluffy and his lips red from being on Zayn’s skin. It’s a good look. Zayn wants more but he shakes his head. “Wait, what?”

“You have to go,” Harry says. He takes a deep breath, “I know that.”

Considering Zayn’s reasoning has all been in his mind he tilts his head, “Why do you know that?” He still has his hands in Harry’s hair and he drops one hand down to his side but let’s the other settle against Harry’s neck. He can feel his pulse under his palm now, how it speeds just slightly.

Harry licks his lip, “Well, you know.”

Zayn huffs a laugh and shakes his head. He runs his thumb over Harry’s jawline, so smooth and strong. “What do I know, babe?”

He thinks Harry might balk under the attention but he looks right up to Zayn’s eyes, his green eyes going warm against Zayn’s hazel. “This feels like something, doesn’t it?” Zayn doesn’t move a muscle but Harry goes on. “Like something special that I don’t want to end after just one night. Like something I want to savor.”

Zayn smiles, somehow Harry has said the same things going on in his head but out loud, instead. “Savor,” he repeats. He kisses Harry’s lips slowly, biting down slightly on his bottom lip if only to feel his pulse jump under his palm again.

“Right?” Harry pulls back but one of his hands drops to twist with Zayn’s, lightly twirling their fingers together.

“Exactly,” Zayn says quietly. He kisses Harry’s lips once more and then his jaw. “It feels like the beginning of something.” Zayn runs his thumb over Harry’s bottom lip. “And that sounds incredibly stupid but you know what I mean.”

Harry’s smile is lopsided. “Yeah, I do know.” He pressed forward to kiss Zayn again and then steps purposefully toward the door. He checks over his shoulder for his cat and then pulls it open. “It would be best if you go now before I change my mind and forget to savor.”

Zayn laughs and slides under Harry’s arm to stand on the other side of the door. “So, date number two? Say, day after tomorrow?”

Harry grins, “Perfect. Should I call you on your own phone this time.”

“That would be nice,” Zayn says, taking his phone out and letting Harry put his number in.

“Will you text me when you get home?” Harry asks as he hands it back.

Zayn nods, “Of course.” He leans forward to kiss Harry again, once more for his walk back and then he starts to turn away. “Goodnight, babe,” he says over his shoulder.

“Night,” Harry says. He stands in his doorway smiling after Zayn as he starts up the sidewalk.

When Zayn looks back Harry is still standing there, illuminated by the lamp next to his front door and smiling after Zayn. He waves when he catches Zayn watching him. There’s a bulb of light in Zayn’s chest, one that burns brighter right then, enough to keep him warm on his walk home – even when it starts snowing again. It’s like turning to the next chapter and he can’t wait.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed :)


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